


the one with the kitten

by doctorkaitlyn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Human Castiel, Kittens, M/M, Married Couple, Prompt Fic, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 01:00:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8182825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkaitlyn/pseuds/doctorkaitlyn
Summary: I don't want to wake her up," Cas says lowly, voice barely above a murmur.  "At least, I think it's a her." 
His hands are raised to chest level and cradled in them, barely bigger than his palm, is an off-white ball of fur. As Cas rubs one thumb along its haunches, the ball stirs slightly, enough for Dean to realize it's a kitten. 
(or, the one where Cas rescues a kitten from a dumpster and Dean is more than happy to help take care of it, once he gets over how damn small the thing is.)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SkippyMcVy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkippyMcVy/gifts).



> written for a dear friend of mine, who recently lost a pet and asked for something happy, with domestic Dean and Cas adopting a kitten. I hope that this helps! <3
> 
> **warning** for very brief mentions of animal abandonment and animal abuse.

Before Dean grabs his six pack of beer from the shotgun side of the Impala, he stretches, back cracking and popping in half a dozen spots. He spent almost the entire day, eight to five, stuck underneath an old junker belonging to one of Bobby's acquaintances, yanking out and replacing and testing practically every piece of the car's undercarriage. He's sure that there's going to be a nice figure on his check come payday, but his back is still twinging and he's pretty sure that he's never going to get all the oil and brake fluid out of the cracks of his hands. 

But on the plus side, he has cold beer and the next two days off, which he's planning on solely spending with Cas, whose car is already parked in the driveway. Dean stretches one last time (and manages to pop out a kink he missed the first time), reaches through the window to grab the beer, and heads up the walkway, debating on whether or not to grill something on the barbecue for dinner or just throw a frozen pizza in the oven.

"Cas?" he calls, kicking off his boots just inside the front door. "You around?" 

"In the kitchen." Dean shrugs off his jacket before picking the six-pack up and heading to the kitchen at the back of the house. When he steps inside, Cas is standing just in front of the sink, facing the window. Even with his back to Dean, he's a sight to behold. His hair is mussed up, like he just rolled out of bed, and his work clothes are stripped off, replaced by one of Dean's old band tees and soft flannel pajama pants. His feet are bare and the sunlight coming through the curtains is dappling the sides of his neck in a soft yellow glow. 

Dean wants nothing more than to step up behind him, wrap his arms around his husband's trim waist and bury his face in his neck, hunt out the place where Cas' heart thrums against his skin, but before he can get a chance to even move, Cas slowly turns around, face as solemn as a priest at mass. 

"I don't want to wake her up," he says, voice barely above a murmur. "At least, I think it's a her." His hands are raised to chest level and cradled in them, barely bigger than his palm, is an off-white ball of fur. As Cas rubs one thumb along its haunches, the ball stirs slightly, enough for Dean to realize it's a kitten. It squeaks once before falling quiet again, tiny ribs rising and falling. 

It's hopelessly small, so fragile that just looking at it makes Dean wince, and based on how he's holding it like a hallowed artifact, Cas is already in love with it. 

"Where did it come from?" Dean asks, voice automatically dropping in volume. He stashes the beer in the fridge before he steps closer, dipping his head slightly so he can peer closer at the tiny kitten. There are a few speckles of black mixed into the thin fur covering her ears and her nose is blush pink. Her eyes are closed and when Cas strokes her haunches again, she yawns and squeaks simultaneously. 

"Someone left her in the dumpster behind the office," Cas murmurs. "I heard her when I was walking to the car. I looked for others, but I think she was the only one." Color swarms into his cheeks, and Dean wonders how many times Cas has thought about killing (or severely harming) the unknown someone who left the kitten in the trash. Frankly, he kind of wants to do the same thing and he's _never_ been a cat person, never been a pet person of any kind. 

But still, he can't imagine how much of a piece of shit someone would have to be to leave such a tiny, vulnerable creature to die.

"Is she okay?" he asks, slowly reaching out and laying the pad of his index finger between the kitten's ears. Her fur is a little gritty and when he leans in closer, he can still smell something rank, the smell of garbage left in the sun. 

"She needs a bath," Cas says, "but I'm afraid to get her wet. I fed her a little bit earlier." 

"With what?" He slides over far enough to reveal a small purple carton and a syringe sitting beside the sink. 

"It's kitten replacement milk, apparently," Cas answers with a slight frown. "From our next door neighbor. Her name is Barbara, by the way. She'd like to have us over for dinner sometime." 

"Sure she would," Dean mumbles absently, gently scratching the kitten's head. He's pretty sure that there are shelters in town that would be willing to take her in; hell, he's pretty sure that if they threw up an ad on Craigslist, they'd have someone stopping by at the end of the day looking to rehome her.

But that doesn't sit right with him and not just because Cas is so obviously in love with the thing. He's generally pretty good at picking out terrible people, but the chance of someone slipping through the cracks is too damn high. If anyone is going to keep the kitten alive, it's going to be them. 

But they definitely have to do it right. 

"Alright," he says, giving the kitten one last scratch before he pats his pocket to make sure his wallet is still tucked in it. "What do we need?" 

Cas _beams._

&.

Dean has never been in a pet store before. 

Not a _real_ pet store at least; he'd gone into a few mall places with Sam when they were younger, but those had been shrunken, miniature versions of the behemoth he finds himself walking into just after six. The place echoes with barking and aisle after aisle stretches off into what looks like perpetuity. 

He glances down at the list in his hand, Cas' jagged handwriting scrawled on the back of a receipt for last night's takeout. Kitten milk is written at the top, followed by kitten bottles, syringes, a heating pad and, in crooked letters at the very bottom, "the smallest cat sweater available." 

Dean is pretty sure that a sock full of rice and a scrap of fabric would also work for the last two items, but if Cas wants a sweater for the kitten, then a sweater it will get. 

After wandering up and down the aisles for a few moments, he manages to find most of the supplies. The selection of cat clothes is bizarrely large and he grabs the first eye-catching thing he sees, a woolen plaid sweater that is half the size of one of his socks. The food aisle is just around the corner and it's there that he stops, balancing the supplies in his arms. 

It's easy enough to find the distinctive purple of the kitten milk carton, but he has no idea how many individual cartons they'll need. From his (admittedly limited) experience, he's pretty sure that most kittens do nothing but sleep and drink. For all he knows, the kitten could drink a carton dry in only a few hours. 

He shifts everything over to one hand long enough to grab his phone from his pocket and call Cas, who answers on the first ring. 

"Did you get everything?" 

"Almost," Dean says. "How much of this kitten milk stuff do we need?" 

For a few moments, there's near silence on Cas' end, broken only by tiny squeaks. Finally, he coughs and says, "I'm not sure. I can probably calculate it, if you give me a few minutes." 

"It's fine." Dean glances around and finds a stack of baskets sitting at the end of the aisle. "I'll just get a bunch. I'll be home in a bit." 

When he pulls into the driveway half an hour later, he stacks the rest of the supplies on top of the case of kitten milk, which contains no less than twenty-four individual cartons. He manages to keep the whole pile balanced up the driveway and into the living room. Cas is sitting on the couch, television turned down low. The kitten is in one of Dean's old beer boxes at his feet, slumbering on a pile of fabric that Dean recognizes as one of Cas' old button-ups. 

"Think this should be enough milk?" Dean asks, setting the whole pile on the floor. 

"Probably," Cas replies, wrinkles forming around his eyes as he smiles. Dean yanks the price tag off the sweater and hands it over. Watching Cas gently ease the half-asleep, squirming kitten into it is possibly the most wonderful (and most ridiculous) thing Dean has ever seen, but after a few moments of struggle, the kitten is encased in the sweater, which is a size (or three) too big. 

"We need the heating pad yet?" Dean asks. Cas shakes his head, so Dean leaves the rest of the supplies in the corner of the room and sinks down onto the couch beside Cas, his still sore back practically sighing in relief.

"We need to feed her every four hours," Cas says, turning up the volume on the old, black and white Western movie that's playing. "She'll need some more in an hour. I set some alarms on my phone."

"Well, good thing we've got a thousand channels to keep us amused," Dean says, dropping his hand to Cas' shoulder. He means to get up for a beer, but he ends up distracted by the warmth of Cas' skin where his throat meets the curve of his shoulder, by the softness of the tee's fabric against his palm. 

Eventually, Cas twists his head and smiles again, squeezes Dean's knee. He doesn't say _I love you_ , but Dean hears it just the same. 

"I'll go throw a pizza in," he says, finally peeling himself off the couch. "You're on TV duty." 

&.

The first alarm goes off just as they're settling in with deluxe pizza and Netflix. They pause the movie and Cas prepares the bottle while Dean supervises the kitten on the kitchen counter, making sure that she doesn't fall off. There's a darker smudge of dirt just above her tail and he licks his thumb, gently rubbing at it. 

"Tomorrow is definitely bath day," he says, earning an indignant squeak for his cleaning efforts. 

"Agreed," Cas murmurs, focused on his work. Once the bottle is ready, the kitten takes it eagerly. She drinks two thirds of the milk before she spits the bottle out, liquid dribbling from the corners of her tiny mouth.

"Do we have to burp her?" Dean asks lightheartedly. Still, he isn't surprised when Cas nods, scooping the kitten back up. 

"Yes. But we can do that while watching the movie." 

Once the kitten has hiccuped, Cas transfers her back to her box, where she promptly falls asleep again. Dean has to stop himself from reaching down to pet her; she's just so _soft_ and makes sounds that Dean didn't even know were possible. 

He's glad that Sam isn't around, because he's pretty sure that he couldn't defend himself if he tried. He doesn't _have_ a defense. Kittens are just too damn cute. 

&. 

The second alarm goes off just before midnight. 

They're on their second movie of the night, Dean is on his third beer and their dinner dishes have been cleared away. Cas gets to his feet, a little bleary eyed, and they repeat the ritual in the kitchen before settling back onto the couch. 

The third alarm rips Dean out of a deep sleep. 

He fumbles for Cas', phone, which is sitting on the coffee table, and manages to thumb the alarm off. The Netflix menu is grayed out from so many hours of inactivity and the kitten is making a sound almost like a chirp as she slowly crawls around the box. Cas is still completely passed out, snoring quietly, head draped on the armrest of the sofa. 

Dean takes a moment to finish getting his bearings, yawns, drops a kiss to Cas' warm forehead, and stoops down to gently scoop the kitten out of the box. 

He imitates Cas' actions from earlier and, thankfully, the kitten once again takes the bottle with no hesitation. As she drinks, feet splayed out on a tea towel resting on the counter, Dean gently strokes her back with the hand not holding the bottle. 

"What are we going to name you?" he mumbles, pushing the kitten's sweater up and away from her tail. The kitten burbles around the nipple of the bottle in response and Dean cracks a smile. 

He's undoubtedly going to feel like shit when the alarm goes off again in three hours and fifty minutes, but he's starting to think that the lack of sleep is going to be worth it. 

&.

A few days later, when one of Castiel's sisters stops by to see the still nameless kitten, she jokes that they could just name the cat after her. 

They take her up on her offer. 

They name the kitten Anna. She's remarkably calm but demands cuddles, wriggling her way into their laps whenever possible, sleeping curled up at their feet or in their laundry basket. While she's happy to get attention from either of them, she definitely leans towards Cas, which Dean really doesn't fault her for. 

He's pretty sure that if someone rescued _him_ from a dumpster, he'd be grateful for the rest of his life. 

It only takes a few days for Dean to decide that even if she sheds all over everything, even if she occasionally pukes on the rug (or on his boots), she's the most amazing creature in the world. 

(After Cas of course, but, well, that goes without speaking.)

**Author's Note:**

> as always, I can be found on [tumblr.](http://banshee-cheekbones.tumblr.com/) :)


End file.
